


sempiternal

by solleret



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Descent into Madness, Eldritch Horror Bodice Ripper, F/M, Gen, Gore, Romance, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26917999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solleret/pseuds/solleret
Summary: “We all thought she’d gone wild...it happens to so many of the good ones.”“Are love and madness not the same?”~An Executioner and a Hunter are fated to meet on one long night.
Relationships: Alfred/The Hunter (Bloodborne)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 29





	1. one

It is the Hunter who initiates their first kiss. She knows- no, _she thinks_ \- he is too shy to make the first move- she wouldn’t go so far as to call him a church boy anymore, not with his hulking mass, but she thinks she knows about the vows people like him make- and so she pulls her scarf down and closes the distance between them. His lips are soft and he gasps, not expecting her to be so brash in her actions. And then, as fleetingly as she approached him, she pulls away.

She is mortified with herself and, when she finds the courage to look at him, she realises she is mirroring his actions. The tips of his fingers are resting on his lips, as though he can’t quite believe she did that and-

“-Alfred. I’m sorry!”

As she turns on her heel and flees the scene of her own doing, she doesn’t notice him reach out for her, already out of earshot when he says her name. No, she does not want to linger too long around the man she has violated- hunter she may be, but she is still human, and still prone to cowardice, especially when it involves matters of the heart.

And, as much as she wants to push her own wrongdoings out of her mind- an easy task when she allows herself to enjoy the hunt, to become nothing more than a vessel of Gehrman’s will- there comes a time when she needs to return back to the Cathedral Ward.

“Hunter.” the voice beckons to her, breaks her from her reverie and she turns to see the Chapel Dweller in his usual spot. Apparently her attempts to be discreet- to creep in and not be noticed by anyone there- have been in vain, but she is not rude, will not ignore the kindness being offered to her. And so, she turns towards his voice. “We haven’t seen you in a while. I presume your hunt is going favourably?”

“Apologies for my absence…it wasn’t intentional,’ she tells him.

How to begin explain being snatched away, knocked out then bagged up by her foe, in the midst of a fight! A foolish mistake on her part, caused by being both woefully underprepared and distracted by-

-no!

“-are you even listening to me?” The tone that brings her back to reality is tinged with humour, not with annoyance that she has slipped into yet another daydream. “I don’t blame you. Reality is rather dire, after all. Don’t get distracted in a fight though. You’re doing such a good job at keeping us safe.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” She drops her bag to the floor and rummages briefly until she finds incense, tightly wrapped and safely enclosed within thick linen. “I found this…thought you might need it more than I do. Not sure I can quite utilise incense as a weapon, as innovative as that would be.” And she places it carefully near his hands. “I need to sort out some of my equipment before I head off…I must apologise again that this is such a fleeting visit.”

The Chapel Dweller does not mind this- how can he? Hunters are becoming more of a rarity, and to have one be so proactive with assisting him- no, not just him but all of them!- means he accepts the distance she keeps from them. It is not wise to become emotionally attached to anyone during such tumultuous times, a lesson he thinks everyone can stand to learn. And, it is due to this train of thought does he remember what he was meant to tell her about before she took herself into one of the many hidden nooks the cathedral has to offer.

An Executioner has been looking for her.

* * *

There seems to be something entirely futile about attempting to give her leathers a clean- more than a cursory wipe over to remove the muck and mire that normally sticks to it- but it is an almost _therapeutic_ activity, and one she will continue to partake in as long as she is a hunter. Some of the marks, more than mere scuffs and now an active part of the fabric, cannot be buffed out, as much as she makes her arms ache in trying to achieve this. It is akin to trying to wipe a scar from the skin with saliva, she thinks: absolutely pointless, but an attempt is made regardless. And then the slow, methodical process of applying wax, buffing it into her clothes so she can try to avoid feeling the rain and the chill of the wind in her bones for a little longer.

So engrossed, she is, in this activity that she does not heed the approaching noise of boots on cobbles until they are in front of her. Only then does she jump before reaching for her rifle and-

“-Tallulah?”

Oh.

_Oh!_

“I thought you smarter than to creep up on hunters on dark nights, Alfred.”

“And I thought you smarter than to not pay attention to your surroundings on such a dark night, yet here we both are.”

There is no malice, no scolding in his voice— if anything, he sounds amused, and it forces her to look at him. Not that she can quite bring herself yet to look him in the eye, instead letting her gaze fall upon his cheeks, his muttonchops- anywhere but where she desperately wants to look.

“You kissed me-”

“-I’m sorry. I should’ve asked you first but-”

“-and then you ran away. Why? Was it so bad?”

He sounds pained, worried by the numerous answers she could give him, and she quickly shakes her head.

“Oh Alfred. I…I thought all you _church boys_ took vows and I made a stupid, rash decision. You did nothing wrong!”

A pause— one that seems to stretch on for an unbearable length of time— and Tallulah can only hear the sound of her own breath, unsteady and magnified by the long silence.

And then!

Then he laughs.

It is so jovial, such a sweet sound to her ears, but her confusion as to the _why's_ of this current predicament must be clearly marked on her face— Alfred thinks that she indeed looks utterly confused at his outburst of laughter- and so he sits next to her, joining her on weathered cobbles.

“You truly believed that I took vows of celibacy? And you still kissed me?” He smiles, laugh lines creasing around the corners of his eyes as he looks to her. “I’m hardly some temple you’ve defiled, my sweet hunter.” A single heartbeat passes before he blushes, cheeks pink as he realises what he has called her.

Alfred thinks back to his time _before_ Cainhurst— when the others were around— and it would be so easy to fall into a romantic nostalgia about the brief, clandestine affairs with other men and women: some of them not just merely his peers, but _lovers_. Illicit kisses in dark corners, fumbling hands removing layers of clothing desperate for the contact of _skin on skin._ It was so easy to push these thoughts out of his mind, lock them away and focus his entire existence entirely on finding his master again, and he met _her._ There is no animosity towards their chance meeting, of course—he would never blame her for stumbling upon him in the Ward.

“Why! For a man who is so forward with his words, you sure blush more than any maiden I’ve ever met!” she retorts, smiling and finally meeting his gaze.

“You tease me so Tallulah, but you were the one who ran away. _Why_ did you kiss me? That’s what I’d really like to know.”

She continues to look at him- to _really_ look at him- and realises he has green eyes. How earnestly he looks back at her, waiting for the answer to his question. And, she thinks, even though he has likely laid with others, he has still retained some innocence- how _curious!_ An Executioner managing to become not entirely ruined by the world around him, by the cruelty and horrors of Yharnam.

“I just really wanted to kiss you. I should’ve asked you first but, truthfully I was afraid you would reject me.” Now it is her time to blush a furious shade of red, but still she pushes on with her confession. “You are handsome and from here, and I…! I am a foreigner to Yharnam and a hunter to boot! There aren’t many who welcome me here, let alone someone who would want to… _fraternise_ with one such as myself.”

He is momentarily quiet, considering her words, before he speaks again. “I looked for you. After you fled, I mean. The man in the chapel didn’t seem to know where you’d vanished to either. I thought-” And he is silenced by a finger to his lips, one that makes his eyes go wide. There is no indignation, only confusion on his face.

“-you needn’t worry about me, Alfred!” Tallulah smiles at him and then begins to draw her hand away when he grabs it, his grasp gentle but unrelenting, before bringing it back to his lips. A kiss is placed upon her knuckles, so brief but her skin burns under his touch, and it is her turn to be silenced. It is very simple, she thinks, to become so task-focused, focusing all her energies into cleansing the streets of vermin and beasts— she hopes no one will mind her taking a brief respite from her what has become her new normal and merely enjoy this time with Alfred.

Such moments spark bliss in her heart.

“Can I assist you with anything?”

Tallulah is still quiet, aware that he is still holding her hand— _‘Does he realise?!’_ — but composes herself after a few seconds. “You are kind, Alfred. If you happen to know of some enchantment to make the wax settle faster then I will welcome that, otherwise-”

“-otherwise it’s a game of patience.” A smile. “I understand. Fortunately for me, I don’t have that issue, but I can sympathise with you having to take this time to make sure everything stays in the best condition possible!”

“Can I assist _you_ with anything, Alfred?”

Tallulah knows about his goal, his drive to get to the fabled Cainhurst Castle and find his Master, but every time they meet he is no nearer to accomplishing this great task he has set himself, and there is small part of herself who wonders if he’s deluded, if this place even exists— of course, she mentally scolds herself for this train of thought, knowing it is callous to think so poorly of him, and knows that Yharnam isn’t a straightforward place, that there are mysteries interwoven within the tapestries of the land and she doesn’t understand it.

Not that it’s her job to understand.

She can almost hear Eileen now, scolding her for overthinking matters and telling her to get on with hunting— that it isn’t her job to understand, but to _act._

“Oh…” Another blush plays on his cheeks, as though her offer is something _more._ “I am quite fine, but I do appreciate the gesture. If you know how to get to Cainhurst so I can fulfil Master Logarius’ legacy then I would forever be indebted to you.”

And, her hand still being clutched by his own, he continues talking, regaling her with tales of Yharnam and the Executioners: she is a stranger in these lands after all and he has deemed it a personal task of his to educate her, ensure she knows as much as she can in a bid to keep her alive during this long, dark night. Too many succumb to the horrors that prowl the alleyways and the woods, quick with a blade but victims of their own ignorance.

He thinks of the beasts masquerading as men, still clothed with bandaged eyes hiding the secret of their affliction. Nay, it is not just them he thinks of, but their victims. How indiscriminately they kill anyone who dares to get caught outdoors when the sun starts to set.

He does not want her to be added to the long list of bodies he has seen during his time in Yharnam, both as an Executioner and as a Hunter. It is easy, far too easy, to imagine her lovely features covered in blood and, even dream bound as she is, he does not want an untimely death to be her ultimate fate.

A blink and then the sudden realisation that he has been sitting in silence, staring at her. And what’s worse is that he doesn’t know how long for.

‘ _How embarrassing!’_

Tallulah tilts her head, a smile playing on her lips and she _wishes_ he’d heard her proposition the first time, a blurted out request for more of his time, more of him. And she wonders if she is greedy for wanting not just his attention but his affection. There has been many a kind word aimed in her direction since her hunt began, but they still leave her feeling unfulfilled.

“I’m so sorry Tallulah!” he replies, admonishing himself for his lapse in concentration, at how wantonly he imagines he must’ve been looking at her.

There is a pause and her mouth downturns so slightly at the corners if he wonders he has offended her in this moment. And then-

“-Heavens, Alfred. Please can I kiss you again?”

At first, he says nothing to her, the look on his face passive as though she hasn’t spoken a single word, and she muses on the fact that maybe she is far too brash in her approach towards matters of the heart—

—A hand reaches over and grabs her, fingers clutching firmly around her bicep and she gasps— “ _Alfred!?”_ — as she is pulled towards him, ungainly and rushed in his bid to bring them closer together. His other hand reaches around the back of her head and as his lips crash against her own, there is no distance between them at all. For the briefest moment, she wonders how she must look- a Hunter straddling an Executioner in a chapel. The thought brings a flush to her cheek before she pushes it quickly aside, knowing it is too late to pretend to be modest.

She savours this moment, savours him: he feels like home to her, and she doesn’t want to let him go. And, even when they first part, she keeps her face close to his own, feeling his soft hair against her cheek.

“Please don’t apologise for that, Alfred-” she whispers to him, “-for it was wonderful.”

It is Alfred who pulls away from her, albeit so briefly but the distance is enough for her to recognise the look on his face as desire, and her stomach flips.

“I’d be a liar if I said I was sorry for that,” he retorts, his tone soft, hushed as though someone else might be listening in. Another quick kiss is placed on her lips before he pulls away once more. “The only thing I should be sorry for is perhaps not doing it sooner.”

“We’ve both been busy,” she replies, somewhat apologetically, “so perhaps we needn’t be so hard on ourselves. We’re both here now, and I’m certainly not going anywhere so—”

He pulls her face back to his own and kisses her again, but it is different this time. It is more unrestrained than before, as though he has unshackled himself from the chains of doubt he had bound around himself about _them_ , and she welcomes it, welcomes his tongue in her mouth and his fingers intertwining in her hair. She is only half aware of his other hand, still gloved, reaching up under her shirt and pulling her in even closer than before. And when he does part from her, it is only momentarily before he pulls her collar to the side, places kisses along the length of her neck.

“You smell of the moon,” he whispers and she sighs, losing herself in sensations she could only dream about before now. The ferocity of some of his kisses leaves her convinced he is leaving marks, and she prays Eileen does not see them the next time they meet.

She _really_ doesn’t want be thinking of Eileen at this time, not while she has Alfred between her thighs, beneath some of her clothes, and it is with the sharpest tug on the clasp of his cloak that she brings his face back to her own.

She wonders if, much like herself, he has been deprived of companionship for too long now. For all the conversations, the kind words and praise that some people direct at her, it is not the same as the touch of another. Now she has it though, she does not want to let it go, let him slip through her fingers and disappear from her life as quickly as he has entered it. These feelings, her own _want_ for him, permeates her sense and-

— _‘Did someone just cough?’_

She pulls away from him, glances over one of his shoulders with heavy lids, and then gasps.

_“Arianna._ Oh-” A curse remains unspoken on her lips as the other woman smiles saccharinely at her, not making any attempt to move towards Tallulah. And Tallulah looks down at Alfred, still snug between her thighs and flushes a furious shade of red as the awareness of how unbecoming she must look in this moment hits her. Her and Alfred look at each other, both nonplussed at how quickly their secret rendezvous has been discovered, and then she parts from him, quickly trying to button up the top of her shirt as she stands up and walks slowly towards the other woman.

“Arianna.” Her voice comes out more like a squeak, and she tries to regain any semblance of dignity by flattening down dishevelled hair. “How…” She takes a moment then attempts to speak again. “I’m sorry. Is everything okay?”

Arianna continues to smile and Tallulah just _knows_ that she wants to say something about the position in which she found the Good Hunter. “The Chapel Dweller sent me to find you, to let you know there were a man looking for you.” And the smirk grows just a little wider, making Tallulah want to put her hat on purely for the reason of covering her face to mask her embarrassment. “I suppose I needn’t say anymore on the matter though. Seems you two are becoming well acquainted with each other.”

“Please don’t tell anyone…” After speaking the words, she internally kicks herself for her lack of tact: she knows Alfred is still in earshot and hopes he does not think her words are directed at him. “It’s so new and I don’t want other people to get involved with us while we’re…” The words fail her, but Arianna nods.

“Eileen’s latest protégée with the last Executioner…” Arianna is silent for a moment, and Tallulah can see cogs and gears moving within her mind as she processes all the information. A smile, more sincere than before, appears on her face. “I’d be a hypocrite to divulge anyone else’s secrets. I’ll let the Dweller know you’re safe, that you’ve caught up with your friend. But I do recommend a little more discretion for your next… _liaison._ I don’t think the nun would take this development quite as well.”

Tallulah could weep with joy at the relief she feels, relief that must be palpable by more than just the expression on her face. A deep bow, one that has been directed at her on numerous occasions by the Doll- one that is so full of respect- is directed now at Arianna.

  
A curtsy back to her, followed by the briefest of winks belying her humour at this encounter “I’ll leave you two to it then.”

She watches as Arianna strolls off, waits until she _must_ be out of earshot before daring to turn back around.

He’s still there although now stood up, and she is keenly aware of how it was between them _before._ And her smile is just a little more restrained as she walks back towards him, unaware of how he’ll respond.

“Well…” she begins, forcing her eyes to stay looking at his face and only his face, “That was rather embarrassing.”

Alfred laughs and leans forward, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind one of her ears. “She respects you. Our secret is safe with her.”

Tallulah nods. “I have no doubt about that.”

And then.

Then she does not know what to say to him, not now things have tangibly, irrevocably changed between the two of them—

—“Alfred—”

—“Tallulah—”

“—You first!” she interjects and he laughs once more.

“Tallulah,” he begins again, knowing there’ll be no more accidental interruptions, “you must concentrate on the Hunt. You are a Hunter, first and foremost. But…I would like to see you again, assist you _with_ this if you’d allow me to.”

“ _Oh!”_ She looks up at him and nods, enthusiastic in her desire to see him again. “I would like that but…my hunt is my own. I appreciate the kind gesture though, please don’t take offence to this.”

“No offence taken.” There is a twinkle in his eye as he leans further forward and kisses the corner of the mouth, his lips barely touching her own. “But please. Don’t disappear on me again. I’m rather enjoying our moments together.”

Alfred takes one step back and nods at her, his smile broad and obvious, and her heart skips a beat as he turns and departs, leaving her in the same spot in which he found her. And, entirely against all her instincts— she knows Eileen would scold her should she ever find out this thought even crossed her mind— she thinks the unthinkable.

_‘I don’t want this night to end.'_


	2. two

Tallulah wakes in the Dream, quite unexpectedly as the last thing she thinks she remembers doing is—

—“Eileen killed me?!” she says loudly, more than a little disgruntled at the fact she apparently was not able to defend herself during a friendly spar. Eileen was only meant to test her skills, ensure she was still improving as a Hunter during the night, preparing her for horrors yet to be discovered.

She thinks back, wonders what caused such a gross lapse in concentration- especially while with her mentor!- and then she remembers before, immediately wishing she didn’t. It’d make the inevitable conversation with Eileen that much easier, to genuinely have temporary amnesia, and not have to feign ignorance, making an excuse for this distraction of hers.

_‘You were thinking about fucking him.’_

As she heads back towards the gravestone, ignoring the messengers and the Doll, she wonders if it’d be possible to head somewhere else and just…disappear. She knows Eileen would catch up with her and it is with a sigh that she heads back towards the chapel.

It is hard not to think about their last encounter- their only proper encounter- and that is what is frustrating her. Her imagination keeps taking her to vivid places, spurring her into thinking about what might’ve happened had Arianna not walked in on them. It was definitely leading to something beyond a kiss, and she rubs her arms absentmindedly while trying to not think about the way his hands were trying to find their way under her camisole.

And, as she approaches the other Hunter, she just knows what expression is on her face, despite being concealed under the beaked mask.

“You should be ashamed of yourself for that display.” Eileen says as evenly as ever, and Tallulah knows she is being told off. There needn’t be any change in the other woman’s tone, in her body language— as ever, she is concise in her choice of words, allowing no breath to be wasted. “You were much better when we fought Henryk. What changed between them and now?”

A direct question, one that blindsides Tallulah and yet she wonders why it should even blindside her.

What’s worse is she does not know how to answer. She wants to ask Eileen about the Executioners, about Cainhurst, but too much— one slip of the tongue— and she is sure Eileen will make the connection.

She does not yet know what she is to Alfred, if anything at all. The spark between them, invigorating and bright, cannot be ignored, but what if that is all it is.

This is not an answer- Eileen does not need to her about the internal turmoil over her lack of romance- and so she shrugs. It may be a white lie, but it is still a lie.

“I have no excuse, Eileen. I’m sorry...”

Eileen tuts, and her demeanour is scrutinising, but she does not push the matter further.

“Your hunt is going well though, I assume. I’ve seen you’ve managed to bring together quite a congregation of people at the chapel.”

_‘Why does she keep talking about the chapel…I’m overthinking this far too much.’_

Tallulah nods instead. “I hope I’m doing a reasonable job…I mean, I’m trying the best I can, given the circumstances. Some people don’t seem to appreciate what I’m doing though.”

“Anyone in particular?”

“The man with the gun. Down in Old Yharnam.” She grows indignant, falls silent, as she hears a stifled laugh come from Eileen, more akin to a huff. “Eileen! He _killed_ me!”

“Yet here you are, and not a scratch on you. Will you complain about me killing you as well?”

Would Alfred care to hear about this, she wonders. Would he offer to kiss her already-faded scars, try to heal _her,_ ease some of the burden that has fallen heavily onto her shoulders. Would he even notice them, put them down as yet another byproduct of this tentative immortality granted to her by the Dream.

“Do you know that man?” She is accusatory, more than she means to be.

“I knew him. We were both like you once, connected to Gehrman.” One hand goes up and gestures dismissively, as though her history is of little interest. “He’s called Djura. The hunt…it changes everyone, affects us all in different ways. He’s not a bad man, just a bit radical in his views.”

“That’s putting it mildly…”

“Tallulah, you’re overthinking matters again. I’ve trodden that same path through Old Yharnam that you must walk! Be quick, be silent and ignore most of the bloody beasts down there girl.”

_Now_ Eileen sounds a little more displeased with her, and she flinches as though slapped. But, she accepts that Eileen is right in her assessment. She does overthink matters, to the point that she has grown fearful about the prospect of trying to explore Old Yharnam again. But, she wonders if perhaps Eileen has forgotten about how much it _hurts_ to die! The feeling of the bullets ripping through her flesh, tearing her asunder faster than she could possibly heal, is still fresh in her mind and she does not relish the idea that it may happen again soon.

“I’m sorry Eileen. Again. I…-”

Eileen walks forwards and places one hand on the younger hunters shoulder, the weight of it warm and heavy (and oddly maternal, Tallulah thinks). “Don’t be sorry. Learn and grow stronger. The moon has barely risen and you’ve already got these doubts. Don’t think it’ll get easier because it won’t! I want you to be a better hunter, a better adversary than what you might meet out there.”

“…so Djura _won’t_ be as bad as it gets?” Tallulah’s tone is light again and she ducks away as Eileen pretends to hit her around the back of the head. “Apologies, Eileen. I am trying, I sincerely mean this. It is just hard to adjust sometimes. Please though, can we spar again? I promise not to…die as quickly?”

“That is a strange promise, but you are a strange girl.” Eileen nods her head. “As long as you’re not as preoccupied this time. I can’t say I much appreciate what’s got into you since our last meet, but you’re entitled to your secrets.”

Tallulah immediately flushes red under her mask, feeling the heat of her embarrassment move from her cheeks to the tips of her ears, but she wills herself to look at Eileen in spite of this. “This town is built on secrets. I’m just trying to fit in with the locals.”

“Enough cheek from you.” There is another stifled chuckle from beneath her mask, and then she reaches for her swords. And Tallulah reaches for her cleaver, knowing the dance between the two of them will start again soon.

She’ll return to hunt soon—it’s not going anywhere during this time spent honing her skills with the help of Eileen. And before throwing herself back into the fray, she wants to see _him_ again.

* * *

Alfred prays to Logarius, kneeled down in reverence beneath his statue, and wonders _how_ he could have found himself in such a predicament. He wants to think solely about how to find a route over to Cainhurst, to right all the wrongs of the past, and finally find some peace for his fallen brothers and sisters in arms. It is frustratingly close to Yharnam, a mere glance over the water from Hemwick, yet seemingly there are no roads, no bridges—nothing!!- that will allow him access.

It is with this thought, a constant frustration and awareness of his lack of power- his lack of ability to apparently do anything _right!-_ does he continue with his vigil, praying to all the higher powers for some insight into a resolution. If only Logarius had taken him, not made him stay behind.

Hindsight is cruel, this much he knows. His ability to recite ancient texts, and the histories of the lands- all the learnings of the Executioners in fact- as though reading them from a scroll or a book was considered such a valuable skill that Logarius ordered him to remain behind so that their knowledge may remain also. If only he had been less attentive, less infatuated with wanting to _know…_! It is difficult to shift this negativity from his mind while Tallulah is around. She is so eager to learn about the lore of Yharnam, listening to him for hours on end to help fill in the gaps in her own mind with little snippets of imparted wisdom from himself.

It would be easier if she wasn’t around, both serving as a reminder and a distraction, and his fingers wrap around each other a little tighter at this thought. This is a cruel thought, cruel to shift his blame onto her as though it is her fault. No, he needs to be stronger, more attentive to his own goal even if that means-

—can he bear the thought of not seeing her again?

His knuckles are white now, clutching onto himself as though his willpower alone is the anchor to his sanity. This is _not_ her fault!

She is kind to him, attentive when listening to both his stories and his woes— occasionally these woes teeter on the edge of _self-pity_ , but she does not pity him nor judge him in return, instead lending him her strength, her compassion—

_‘Gods above, lend me some strength! I have it bad.’_

He rises to his feet and places his hands on the mantle of the statue, begging it- begging Logarius- for some clarity, some assistance with his pleas. And then he wonders if this is perhaps an overreaction of his, that the Executioners aren’t forbidden from romance, from seeking _love_ — perhaps discouraged from pursuing this as Logarius wanted everyone to be focused as possible when seeking out the Vilebloods, but he can’t recall it every being explicitly forbidden.

Is it possible for this focus to remain when he knows there is someone waiting for him? Maybe he would hesitate in the heat of battle, or worry too much about her or—

_‘I need to get to Cainhurst sooner and stop this frivolous nonsense! What would Master think of me, fretting over some woman- one who is basically a stranger at that! I’m better than this silliness of…fawning over someone!’_

These thoughts are easy and shallow, and he tries to stifle down the prospect of how terrible it’d actually be to not see her again: to not hear her laughing at his lighter remarks or to _kiss_ her again would be woeful. And, even though he knows all this, how much he basks in the feeling of how wonderful she makes him feel with her presence, her lips!—

—No.

This can’t continue!

What he wants and what he needs to do are different thing, and it pains him so! But, he is _the last!_ There is no one else to spread the words of the Executioners, to ensure those from Cainhurst don’t corrupt Yharnam with such potent barbarism again! And, it is with a heavy heart does he mentally renew sacred vows, vows he undertook all those years ago and that can’t be discarded so lightly.

He knows he must do the right thing, even if it difficult. And so he whispers words to himself, lessons and teachings from his Master, trying to rationalise his decision to isolate himself once more. _This_ is why the liaisons with other Executioners were much more straightforward, more transactional even, he thinks— they all knew where their duties would take them and there was no vagueness as to the very matter of these relationships. More often that not, they were quick fumbles, enough to burn off pent up energies and work through any ridiculous and, quite frankly, _unnecessary_ crushes. It is in this position he remains- hands clasped back together in prayer, pleading for some resolution to this turmoil he has found himself in— anything to stop the movement of his anxious mind convincing him everything he has set out to achieve is impossible— until he hears something.

It comes from behind him, and he can hear the sound of boots approaching and a gentle cough- one to indicate friend, not foe, and to get his attention. How he wants to turn around and embrace her with open arms, to—

—no, he won’t keep doing this to himself. He needs to be strong, for himself and for his Master!

“Alfred?” Her voice is soft, softer than he remembers, and he wonders if he has built up the image of a much crueller woman in his mind in a bid to protect himself, to make it easier to make this decision. He refuses to turn around and face her, knowing this is cowardice he is feeling. And the footsteps grow closer until they stop behind him. One gloved hand rests gently on one of his arms, and he flinches away as though her touch burns.

“I’ve upset you…?” Tallulah withdraws her hand and steps away from him, not sure how best to respond to this sudden change in his temperament. “I was too forward, wasn’t I? Oh my goodness Alfred, I’m so sorry!”

He gulps, the sound of his own anxiety audible to both of them, and then he turns to face her.

“Tallulah, I promise you’ve done nothing wrong. And I do enjoy your companionship so. It is just-” The words fail him and he wonders if the real reason his Master left him behind wasn’t because of his knowledge.

“Perhaps then you could explain it to me because I don’t understand. We kissed! We parted on good terms, at least I thought they were good terms, and now you’re acting like you can’t bear to have me around?”

He gulps again and he knows he is clenching his fists, not through any feelings of ill will to her but to focus his resolve, to stay strong…!

“We can’t see each other anymore. That is, I mean…in the way we saw each other before!”

His heart sinks when he sees her eyes go wide, the shock of his outburst apparent, and she looks like she is going to speak— _‘please say something!’_ he thinks, anything to break this fierce, terrible silence that has engulfed them. But then her mouth closes and she draws her mask back over her lips, concealing most of her face.

“I bid you farewell then, Alfred.” She nods her head towards him slightly and refuses to meet his eyes, and her voice is so maddeningly even that he wonders if she even cares! “I’ll still be sure to pass on any information I happen across about Cainhurst but-”

She falls silent once more and this new, resumed silence is more deafening to him than before, more oppressive than if she were to shout at him, tell him that he’s wrong!

But she says nothing, and he watches as she turns and walks away from him. He _knows_ he should feel calmer now knowing that there are no more distractions, that there is theoretically nothing now standing between him and his drive to get to Cainhurst but…

He realises his fists are still clenched and consciously makes the effort to flex his fingers, loosening joints in a bid to try and ease himself of some of the tension and guilt he is feeling.

It does nothing.

If anything, now he has spoken those words out loud, words that are impossible to take back or undo, does he realise the sheer stupidity of his decision. He is _still_ wracked with guilt over how badly she took his news- deservedly so as well!

A pause, a conscious decision to wait and think properly, to not let fear cloud his judgement like it always does. So he waits, watching the statue of his Master, watching the moon- anything for a sign that he has made the right decision in sending her away, some justification to help ease the sense of blame he feels.

There is no cosmic sign, no epiphany, and he knows for certain he has made a terrible decision.

_‘Forgive me for straying.’_ he thinks, a glance back to the statue before picking up what little gear he brings out with him for the long nights. Fire papers, some antidotes ( _‘because who knows what strange beasts will appear on my walk back!’_ ) and his hammer.

He did a terrible job at finding her before— she is illusive, strangely inconspicuous during these times, but he knows of someone who will be able to assist him this time around. Tallulah might kill him herself for this move on his part, bold and rash as it is, but there’s only one other person she has talked about trusting in this town.

Eileen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Realised I hadn't added angst as a tag before so have rectified that ;)
> 
> Thanks for the lovely comments, kudos and bookmarks!! You're all so lovely. 
> 
> There will be bodice ripping and kissing and gore soon <3


	3. three

Alfred cannot say he knows much about Eileen other than from the tales he has heard both from Tallulah, and also from whispered rumours he has overheard about her on the street. She is enigmatic, a _Hunter of Hunters_ (if he has recalled this correctly) and, like Tallulah, a foreigner in Yharnam- someone else who has not been welcomed onto the steepled streets with open arms. Truthfully, he had hoped they would never need to meet. He can’t imagine she allows her time to be wasted on social frivolities, and the only other reason that they would meet would be if she were to be hunting him, if he became so consumed with bloodlust that he was a danger to everyone around him.

Put down just like any other beast.

It does not take him long to locate her outside the cathedral, his own route through building itself hasty in a rather deliberate bid to avoid eye contact with Arianna. And he thinks, even before he has spoken to her, introduced himself to her, that she is _terrifying._ It is not sure whether is it her cloak, so unlike anything else he has seen- a shroud of black feathers- or how still she remains, continuing to stay facing away from him despite his loud footsteps on cobbles. It is like she is entirely unafraid of him, and the way this confidence exudes from her makes him wish he had previously made some better choices.

“Um, excuse me but are you Eileen?” A pause then he rushes on ahead, not waiting for her to answer. “That’s a silly question and I apologise for that. I know you’re Eileen and I should introduce myself! I’m Alfred, the protégée of Master Logarius, and I was rather hoping I could get your assistance with a matter, one I’m afraid is entirely of my own doing!”

The silence continues but then! Then she turns to face him, a slow rotation on one heel and suddenly he doesn’t know quite what to say as she stares him down. Alfred wonders how Tallulah can stand it, that impenetrable gaze of hers; she is so _different_ to Eileen, more open and affectionate and-

—“I tend not to speak ill of the dead as they cannot speak for themselves, but what type of master would leave their protégée behind?”

His eyes grow wide at this barbed retort, but he does not know what to say to counter this. The words cut him, are exactly what he is afraid of but does not want to even comprehend this!— he does not want to give life to such an outlandish idea such as that! No, she is playing games with him! That’s it!

“I came to find you for some assistance, as I mentioned before. The thing is that…well… _it’s about Tallulah!”_ He blurts the words out, wanting desperately for this conversation to both be over and for Eileen to actually help him out.

“What about her?”

“We’re friends you see, or maybe we’re more than that— or we _were_ more than that until I made a stupid, rash decision and I hurt her feelings, and…I want to make it right!”

“So you’re the prick who burst her bubble.”

“Heavens, Eileen!!” He is mortified and knows he has gone red at such an intrusive statement. “We’ve only kissed!! There has been no such… _defilement_ of her! Goodness, we’ve yet to have that conversation and I’m fairly sure she has bedded others in the past anyway given her confidence and— _ow!”_

It is abundantly clear Eileen is sick of his ramblings, given how she has grabbed one of his lobes and pulled on it, akin a mother scolding a child. She may be shorter and slighter than him but it is obvious that he would lose any fight, as friend or foe, against her.

“My word! Have you allowed her to get a word in during your conversations? You babble like a brook, boy.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” He protests and another tug on the ear lobe causes him to flinch. “Granted, sometimes I do have a tendency to speak a bit too much, but she’s never complained about this, at least not to my face—”

“— _Alfred._ ” He falls silent and, as he does, Eileen lets go of his ear. “I’ve noticed she’s been distracted lately but I couldn’t quite decipher the reason why.” She stares, quiet and critical in her appraisal of him, and he shifts nervously from side to side. “Out of everyone in Yharnam and she _has_ to fall for you. The last Executioner. Fate certainly seems to have a peculiar sense of humour.”

“I promise I never meant to hurt her! I didn’t even know she felt anything until she kissed me-”

“-she _kissed you first?”_ The slightest increase in her pitch is the only indication that this is new to her, that even she can have her composure rattled on occasion. “So you’re telling me-” she continues, after having allowed herself a moment to allowing to absorb and accept this sudden development about her mentee, “-that my hunter was affectionate towards you, a feeling which you reciprocated and _then_ you sent her away?” There is the sharpest tug at his ear again and he yelps.

“ _Please stop pulling my ear!”_ Emboldened, he dares to tap her hand away and then jumps backwards before rubbing his throbbing lobe. “I came here to ask if you happened to know where she was! I made a foolish, cowardly decision and I think—”

“—yes yes, I bloody know what you want.” She shakes her head and tuts at him. “But is it the right thing?” A pause, a musing then she continues. “That’s not my place to decide. If you hurt her again, I’ll come for you young Executioner.”

“Again? So you’re saying you’ll help me?” His face lights up at Eileen’s words, at the fact she hasn’t just outright denied his request.

“I haven’t trained another hunter since-” She cuts herself off— a sore point was nearly touched upon, Alfred thinks— but there is only a split second of silence before she continues “—My point is she is one of the good ones. I don’t want to see her ruined by this place, or by you. If you want her, commit to this. Have some confidence that you can do it. I know you each have your own duties to fulfil but the night is long.” There is another pause and then she turns away from him. “Old Yharnam. She’s gone exploring down there.”

Alfred recoils. “That’s a reckless, foolish endeavour of hers! Does she not know about that mad hunter who live-”

“-She knows but this is her time to hunt.” Still facing away from him, she strolls the few steps back to where he had found her. “What are you waiting for? You’re from Yharnam and we both know there are shortcuts around here. Stop hanging around here and go find her!”

There is an awkward moment in which he is not sure whether to thank her for fear she will scold him again for not moving fast enough, or to not thank her but risk appearing incredibly rude, especially given her relationship to Tallulah and that she has assisted him.

_‘You’re overthinking this!’_

“Thank you!” he shouts, already turning and running away from her.

Now to rectify this mistake of his.

* * *

He knows the backstreets of this town well and it doesn’t take him long to navigate his way past the unhinged hunter on the gun. Long shadows and dead ends in Old Yharnam do nothing to dissuade him from his task, his desire to see her again and beg for forgiveness from her. It is not his right to be forgiven by her, but he hopes he can try, can earn back her trust.

Old Yharnam is big, ruined by the sins of their forefathers and, despite these odds, it does not take him long to happen upon the distinct trail of a hunter. Not necessarily Tallulah, given the methodical way in which the beasts have been slain— the cuts in their flesh are clinical, more like a butcher he thinks, but _they_ might know where she is. There is something macabre about following a trail of corpses under a slow-rising moon and he scratches the back of his neck as he tries to shift off the feeling of eyes watching him. Despite the trepidation he feels, he still slowly continues moving forward, feet steady on old cobbles and keeps his eyes for any additional signs Tallulah is around.

Shouting, _cursing!_ followed by the unmistakable scream of a beast can be heard as an echo and he turns, trying to figure out where the source of the noises are! In turn, he himself curses how built up Old Yharnam is, how the labyrinth of alleys amongst churches and terraced houses, all scorched by the past, give _nothing_ away and retain their secrets! But, this is no time to panic! And so he keeps walking—albeit a little faster than before— towards where he hopes the sound is coming from. He knows there are a few smaller graveyards towards where he is heading and it seems logical to check them all out before delving back into the midst of the chaos in the streets.

The first graveyard is littered with corpses, both beast and man, but there is no sign of any hunters around.

No luck.

And so he continues on to where he knows the next graveyard is and, as he approaches it, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck and on his arms stand on end— he was both a hunter for long enough, and has been an Executioner for even longer to know to trust these instincts, instincts that tell him to reach for his hammer. This is, of course, just a precaution and he won’t just run headfirst into a situation without assessing it properly! But, from the noises he heard earlier, the conclusion he has jumped to is not a fools conclusion and he slows as he gets closer, closer until-

_‘A hunter!’_

The silhouette is unmistakable, but they are bent down or could it be that they’re _kneeling on the beast?_ And the beast is _shrieking_ as the hunter cuts into them.

Oh, so this _is_ the hunter whose trail he has been following.

He has not be seen by this other person yet, and it is his own morbid fascination about this situation that compels him into continuing being a voyeur to this slaughter— every cut they make into the flesh of the beast is deliberate, made with intent, and they seem not to care to about how long it is taking them to die. And it should unsettle Alfred as it goes against everything he has been taught! Hunting the beasts and purging the streets of their corruption is one thing, but they’re always encouraged to be swift in their slaughter, not to waste too much time lest another beast escape or worse! But still— his feet won’t allow him to move forward, to confront them and tell them they’re wrong. One of the hunters hands comes up as the beasts movements grow sluggish— _‘it must be near death now?’_ — and Alfred’s eyes are drawn to the one finger that slips between their lips, licking the blood clean off the leather. It reminds him of one of the confectioners or bakers from Yharnam, how they absentmindedly lick something delectable from their hands at the end of a long day surrounded by treats— it is only human to submit to temptation, and he wonders perhaps if this hunter has succumbed to bloodlust?

Should he fetch Eileen?

No! He can handle this himself, properly judge the situation prior to requesting assistance!It is with one hand resting on the handle of his hammer does he move towards the hunter, his footsteps audible to the other person. _Now_ they turn around, turning swiftly to face him and Alfred’s breath catches in his throat as he makes eye contact with the hunter.

_“Alfred? What are you doing here?!”_ she scrambles for her saw cleaver, afraid of how he’ll respond to her like this, and his eyes are as wide with presumed-horror as she knows her own eyes are.

Frozen to the spot, he does not know how to respond and his mind races in a bid to _process._ Has she succumbed to the taste of blood so early into the hunt? He had not noticed anything beastly about her when they last spoke but perhaps- _‘Was I too consumed with her to really notice her?’_

He is cautious he gets closer to her, shocked by this development, but despite his own tempestuous thoughts, he can’t help but notice the way her eyes keep shifting to where one of his hands is resting and-

-he removes his hand from the hammer and now, even though he is stood right in front of her, there is still a strange distance between them.

“Tallulah?” he asks softly, looking down at her and she continues to stare back at him. “Are you okay?”

She opens her mouth and inhales but then— nothing!

“Eileen told me you were down—”

“—you went to Eileen!?”

He nods and then offers out one hand to her. “Perhaps this is a conversation better suited to you not being sat in blood?”

Tallulah goes to reach for it, to grab onto it and hold it like a lifeline, but then she hesitates, and it is _this_ that seems to frustrate Alfred.

“ _Tallulah!”_ Enough of this- he deserves answers and she deserves answers, and he grabs her hand, yanking her up from the corpse of a beast and to her feet. And, even though she stumbles due to how quickly he moves her, he is there to keep her upright. Not that she has much of an opportunity to appreciate this gesture given how he pulls her after him as he starts to walk towards the boundary walls.

_“Alfred! What are you going to do to me?!”_ she squeaks and it is _this_ that permeates through the confusion and anxieties muddling his mind.

She sounds scared and he stops as they reach the walls before turning to her, looking shamefaced. “I didn’t mean to…apologies Tallulah, there’s a lot I want to say and ask and I don’t know where to begin. Actually I _do_ know where to begin!” Two strong hands grasp around her middle, and she gasps as he scoops her up only to deposit her on top of a wall. There is a brief moment in which he unclips his own weaponry from his back— it drops to the floor near his feet without as much as a second glance— and then he is climbing up to sit next to her. “You’re shaking and I didn’t want you to faint,” he explains and smiles at her. She is not looking at his face however and he follows her line of sight to see her focusing on his hands or, more specifically, his gloves. They are covered in blood- blood from whatever she has slain this eve- and he quickly removes them, putting them to the opposite side of himself.

“I…didn’t know how much of a mess I’d made, which seems ridiculous upon saying it out loud but…” she falls silent again and he knows he must ask the question he fears the answer to.

“Tallulah, are you _changing?”_ And, as quickly as he has asked the question, he realises he wants to check for himself- perhaps, being new to Yharnam and its peculiarities, she might not realises what the earlier symptoms are. He shifts closer to her, close enough to really examine her face— a tilt of her head so she’s looking up at him, being held still by his hand. Her pupils look fine— no deterioration in their state, no collapse— and so he moves one thumb to her mouth. It briefly ghosts over her lips and then suddenly is suddenly _in_ her mouth, slipping itself between her teeth.

A gasp from her at this unexpected invasion of her mouth and she bites down in response, her reflexes kicking in before she has a chance to wonder why. And as he suddenly draws his thumb back with an _‘ouch!’,_ she reaches forward for him to console him then stops again, her hand hesitant in the empty space between them.

“Well, not a beast as I still have my thumb!” he jokes but she is still quiet and so he keeps talking, anything to try to rectify this mess. “I need to know _why?_ I’ve done hunting for the church and this isn’t…the most… _appropriate_ way to hunt.”

“I…” She starts and stops- a false start- then begins again. “When I first woke up in the clinic, there was _no one_ around and when I tried to leave, I was set upon by a beast. I got away…but how cowardly of me it was to run away. And then I saw some people and I was delighted! I thought they would help me, even despite me not being from here so I called out to them-” She pinches the top of her nose for a moment and frowns before continuing, “-no one told me beasts looked like that at first and…they tore me apart. You would think the body would succumb to such injuries quite quickly but dying can take a while sometimes. After this I—I just _hated_ them all. I wanted them to hurt as much as they hurt me.”

He is pensive for a moment but then he pats her on the back of her hand. “I’m sorry that happened to you, but I’m…relieved you’re not _beastly._ And while I can’t say this is the most conventional way of hunting, you are still out here hunting regardless! Although-” he adds quickly, “-admittedly I am still a little curious about the blood,”

Her eyebrows raise slightly. “Oh? A Yharnamite like yourself wondering why anyone would want to taste blood?”

“Touché.”

“Alfred…please don’t tell Eileen. She will-”

“-say no more.” Another pat on the back of her hand. “She is… _formidable._ I’d rather not to give her another opportunity to hurt me.”

Tallulah barks out a laugh, still a little strained, but she feels better in knowing someone knows her secret— that she has not been judged for finding an outlet for her pain. But, there is something that is still confusing her. “Alfred, why are you here? You made your feelings about _us_ quite clear before and I must confess you are the last person I’d expect to see down here.”

He coughs weakly, clearing his throat. “I made a grave mistake in sending you away and I’m sorry. The truth is I like you a lot and I like us a lot and I just had a typically _me_ moment and panicked about it”-

“-You _panicked?_ ”

He nods, smiling wryly. “Don’t sound too surprised. Even grown men can be prone to such moments!” And then he grabs her hands with his own and his cheeks grow red again. “Tallulah, please forgive me. I don’t expect you to-”

She reaches up, her hands now free, and grabs his face, drawing it down to her own before kissing him. He reciprocates, kissing her back so tenderly that it almost brings her to tears. It feels like as soon as they draw together that they must begrudgingly part, and she looks up at him, at the pink tips of his ears and his own bright eyes.

“Please speak to me the next time you intend on having a crisis. I’m sure there ways we can work through it together-”

“- _Tallulah!”_

“I think it’s a little late to act so prudishly, Alfred!” she laughs at him, “But I only tease you because I also like you too.”

_‘I like you too.’_

He leans back down to kiss her again- _‘sod her hunt!’_ he thinks for a moment.

The world can wait for them for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who is supporting this fic <3
> 
> http://oldhunterhenriett.tumblr.com


	4. four

“I thought it would’ve taken you longer to forgive me.” he whispers to her.

“Why?”

“Eileen said-”

“-please don’t talk about Eileen when I’m trying to kiss you, Alfred. It’s creating all sorts of bizarre images in my mind.”

He kisses her, hot and rough and it banishes this thought from her mind. And now they’re getting closer again-

-she pulls away, much to displeasure of both parties. “I’m getting blood all over your nice robes! I’m sorry, I didn’t really think to-”

More kisses, his hand holding her face this time to keep her close to him, and she stays, consumed with such sweet bliss. 

“I really am sorry though.” His voice is husky as he stops to draw breath, and she takes this moment to open her eyes, admire his face, his form. In doing so, she pulls away from him slightly, ignoring the way he tries to draw her back in for more. There will be time later for her to truly show her devotion towards him, to worship his body with more than just mere words but also with her body— with her hands and her lips and her tongue. Until they have such time together though, she will show him tenderness in every way she can possibly comprehend.   
Tallulah stares at him, examining him, and he can feel the way her eyes move over the details of his face: fleeting, flittering glances but full of consideration. She pauses for a moment, her eyes narrow and then she quickly pulls one glove off her hand before running one thumb over his face. It brushes the faint circles underneath his eyes, follows the line of his nose down and then traces over his lips with such tenderness that his breath catches in his throat. 

“I adore you,” she says with such sincerity that he does not know how to reply and can only watch her, feel how his heart pounds in his chest. “I want to memorise every part of you, get to know you like the back of my hand so I can remember you when we’re apart.”

“Tallulah-“

“-you may think that I’m being a whimsical arse-” She giggles then leans in, the briefest of kisses placed upon his lips. “-and I’d agree with you to be honest! You’re a handsome man, Alfred. Handsome and kind and intelligent. Allow me to indulge myself for just a moment longer. I know I mus-“

-he kisses her again, knowing he can’t articulate how he feels with mere words— they have constraints, can be misunderstood or taken out of context! And, one hand in her hair, the other around her waist, he hopes he can express his gratitude toward her for giving him a second chance, for believing that he is worth more than previous misdemeanours. And she reciprocates with so much passion! 

He is grateful that she kissed him, that she was impulsive and forward with her decision, and caused this to happen. 

Is it wrong of him to want more already?

He pulls away from her, quite unexpectedly, but he is also rather certain that this will lead to this more- Eileen would surely kill him if she ever found out he had fucked Tallulah in a graveyard. 

There is a smile, a tilt of the head. “Are you overthinking things again?”

“Perhaps? Eileen had some…choice words for me when I asked her for help. You see, I was already quite flustered about us, and then she made a rather disparaging comment about myself and Logarius, and then I got even more flustered and mentioned us—”

“Eileen knows?” Tallulah sounds shrill and he realises, once again, he has put his foot in his mouth. There is a long silence that is awkward as neither of them quite know how to process this slip of the tongue, and then he jumps off the wall, away from her, as she reaches for the lapel of his cloak. 

“It was an accident!!”

She slides of the wall and follows him. “Alfred!”

“I said it was an accident and she’s very intimidating!” he protests, trying to keep a small amount of distance between them— it is suddenly abundantly clear that some of Eileen’s fire has rubbed off on Tallulah.

“Oh, she can definitely be scary.” Tallulah nods in agreeance. “She made me cry once actually…but no! That’s not the point! I should’ve been the one to tell her.”

“And I really am sorry. I promise, I didn’t mean to…blurt it out, like I did. I was just desperate to find you and make things right!”

Tallulah looks more than annoyed and rightfully so, he thinks— he doesn’t know about why Eileen took to Tallulah, why she decided to train her, out of every hunter who has ever walked the paths around Yharnam and hunted, but clearly the respect between them is mutual. It is now he knows he has to earn her respect, not just with kisses but with more, and so he closes the small distance between them and then reaches behind her. And as she pivots, she gasps as she watches him pick up his weapon- a Kirkhammer, if she recalls the name correctly. 

“I’ll help you hunt!” he announces and then hurriedly continues, seeing the shock prevalent on her face. “I want you to trust me, and I know I keep making these horrible blunders and only have myself to blame each time. The thing is I really like you and I want to show you how much I like you because heaven only knows how much my words let me down sometimes.”

“You really don’t need to help!” she protests weakly, but she knows this sense of trepidation she feels has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with her. She fears that-

-“I’m not going to tell Eileen about how you hunt," he says delicately, still not knowing how openly to address it given her reticence about discussing it further. “You might have reservations about this and truly, I understand! But, I honestly want to help. After all, hunters used to work in pairs!”

She worries about him— he is not connected to the Dream and, unlike her, if anything were to happen to him, he wouldn’t come back. But, she thinks, he’s also strong and sensible, and she is sure he wouldn’t put himself in harms way. And, so she nods and allows herself to smile, allows herself to feel just a little excited at the prospect of hunting with someone else finally. 

“It’ll be different hunting with someone else,” she says, turning around and picking her hat up off the wall before placing it back on her head. “although admittedly, I am a little apprehensive about…how you’ll react to me.”

“I’ll stay out your way, as much as possible.” Alfred pats her on the shoulder and watches as she collects the rest of her equipment- the weapon that was dropped on the ground in haste being the main thing- and wonders if she is happy about this agreement. He know she is connected to the Dream and that she can’t die— at least, not in the traditional sense of the word. He knows she can be killed, still feels pain, and he wants to protect her from this as much as he feasibly can. His Master’s words come to mind as he watches her, and he knows he will always be good to Tallulah, will always strive to be kind to her.

  


* * *

  


She lets Alfred take the lead, given his expertise about Yharnam and she finds that she is endearing herself to him more as he tells her tales, continues to impart his knowledge upon her about his home, about the ruins of Old Yharnam and the old hunters. 

“You should write a book about all the stories you know about!” she tells him, knowing she is gravitating closer towards him once more. How easy he makes himself to forgive, to be liked- she wonders if perhaps she should have been more angry with him about how he told Eileen, but there is a sincerity about him that makes her believe him. He looks like he is about to reply, given the way he looks back over his shoulder at her and smiles but then a noise and he is faster at responding than she is- she can only assume this is down to the fact he is vastly more experienced than she is, knows what should be responded to. And, before she can respond, he sets upon a beast before it can set upon them. 

She knows, despite its smaller stature, it is still vicious and she has learned from her own first-hand experiences with them they never tend to stray too far from others. Yet, even as she readies her own weapon in preparation for her own inevitable scrum, she cannot take her eyes off Alfred. She knows he is strong, given the almost carefree way he can easily handle a weapon she can barely lift, and also the way he has manhandled her as though she weighs nothing, but there is something about watching him fight against something as abnormal as one of the beasts of Old Yharnam that is captivating in its brutality. But, this is not the time for her mind to stray from the task at hand. It is one thing for him to declare such intentions as helping her but she will- she must- also protect him.   
She throws herself into the fray while simultaneously trying to ignore him and ensure he is not being overwhelmed. Given the current situation, and the sudden pain on her face as a stray claw cuts neatly through the covering, she rapidly stops paying attention to him however, knowing he seems far better off than she does at this moment. And, trying to ignore the metallic taste of blood in her mouth— both her own and from the creatures she is fighting—she cuts away at them, the first motions less precise in her bid to disable them, to stop them from fighting back. 

She hates them. Not just the beasts themselves, but the arrogant bastards who ruined Yharnam.

She hates them all. And this fury that is sparked inside her only when she hunts is the most potent type of fuel; it is not merely wanting what she fights to die, but also the knowledge of who she fights for. She thinks of the Chapel Dweller, of Eileen— even Adella, as barbed as her tongue may be on occasion— and she is certain that if she fails, others will die. It is almost too heavy a burden to bear. 

Better to be feral during these solitary moments than to risk the lives of others with acts born of meekness. 

So fixated on what is in front of her, on cutting through the tough flesh and even tougher tendons that lay underneath that she doesn’t notice what is coming up behind her that when she hears her own name, the way it rolls off his tongue, she flinches back into existence. 

The fog, a haze covering her eyes, lifts and she stares for a moment longer at the gore beneath her, at the exposed flesh and bone and blood seeping from the many incisions on the beasts body, before standing to face him. 

“Are you okay?”

A nod. “Of course.” And then he looks at her, scrutinising her before he unhooks the tattered remains of her mask from her hat. One thumb brushes over her lip and she flinches, moving away from him. “You’re hurt.” His tone is apologetic as though it was him who injured her, who split her lip clean open. Using the corner of his cloak, still somehow untainted from recent events, he dabs around her mouth with such tenderness that she remains still while he works, cleaning the mess from her face. And his eyes follow the line of the cut from her lip and down her chin where he assumes she either jolted away from the pain, or it ran out of flesh.

How fragile she is, he thinks, despite being a Hunter. 

“Has it always been like this for you?”

“It’s usually worse than this. Thank you for being quite the efficient killer!” she laughs drily before wincing again. “I just need a vial and a moment then I’ll be good to continue. Please don’t fret, Alfred.”

“I can’t help but fret,” he replies, reaching for one of his own blood vials before kneeling down in front of her. “This’ll sting, but I’m sure you know that.” Before she has time to reply, or pull away from him, he jabs her in the thigh with it, the needle pricking though the clothes and into the soft flesh. A sharp inhale is heard above him and as he stands, he notices how she averts her eyes, pointedly looking away from him.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

This makes her look at him.

“Oh…bloody hell, Alfred! You’ve done nothing. I’m just embarrassed.”

“But you’ve done nothing!”

“Exactly! You fought off most those beasts by all accounts while I got myself injured!”

Before she can argue this point or further be consumed by self-pity, arms grab her and she is dragged close to him. And he doesn’t need to prompt her or ask her for anything before she hugs him back, sinking into this embrace. 

“Stop overthinking things, Tallulah. That’s my job!” He hears huffed laughter into his chest, her breath warm even through his numerous layers, and so he continues. “It’s your first hunt. You shouldn’t doubt yourself so much.”

“Fine, fine!” She withdraws from him, smiling again. “It’s nice having you around but it’s just taking some getting used to. You’re the person I’d go to after moments like this, not the person to see me making silly mistakes.”

“You didn’t make any mistakes though!” He leans down, placing a quick kiss to her lips. “Now, I think you should take a moment before we continue on.” And, when she goes to sit in the spot where she stands, he tuts at her. “There are enough abandoned houses around here that you can have a proper seat, and not roll around in the dirt.”

Tallulah laughs at him. “So you don’t mind me sampling blood and…certain behaviours, but you draw the line at me sitting on the pavement?”

“It’s unsanitary.” 

She goes to retort but notices how he’s trying not to smile and knows he’s just humouring her now. 

“I’ll follow you then, dear Executioner!” Tallulah does a dramatic curtsy and then follows him as he starts to walk again. And she wonders how he knows which houses are still safe for use, given the decrepit state of the old town. It is hard to imagine that perhaps the plague in Yharnam was worse than it is now, that someone was forced to make such a horrific decision to burn an entire town down in order— was it desperation that drove them to kill? Or was it selfishness, an act done out of the need to maintain their own lifestyles at the cost of someone else’s?

Not that she’ll ever get to meet the people who bought such a catastrophe down upon Yharnam.

When she follows him into a house, the door permanently wedged open, she becomes acutely aware that the interior is different to anything she saw when she was back up in Yharnam.

“Do you mind if I take a look around? If that’s not too much like being a grave robber. I won’t take anything. I’m just interested.”

Alfred nods. “Of course! Take your time. It’ll give me a moment to get my things organised again.”

She walks from the hallway and heads up a narrow staircase, not knowing where she is heading or what she is looking for. And it is a small room immediately at the end of the hallway that catches her fancy so she heads for it. A gasp as she sees trinkets discarded on top of the chest of drawers, at garments made of floral lace and rouge for the lips. It is in this moment of discovery, of serenity born of a moments respite, does she allow herself to think more about herself.

Tallulah wonders who she was before Yharnam, given her endless inquisitiveness and need to explore and examine everything. She knows from her soft hands and the new, painful callouses that have only developed during the hunt, that it is highly unlikely she was a labourer or a maid. A scholar perhaps, she muses, or a lady? She smiles to herself at this latter thought, knowing her mannerisms and general temperament would have made her a terrible Lady of any description. And, feeling bemused about how quickly she has shunned this ridiculous notion from her mind, she continues to pick through abandoned trinkets while trying to ignore the macabre notion that their former owners may have recently been killed by her own hands.   
A pocket watch, capturing a moment now forever frozen in time, catches her eye and she admires the details on the casing; no longer fashionable but beautiful nonetheless. And, under a layer of ash is a mirror. It is cracked, but still whole and she wonders how something so fragile could have withstood such horrors as the purge of Old Yharnam. But there is more to this and she picks up it, gathering up whatever fortitude she can muster. And, she knows this is more than just merely having her curiosity piqued but is the inherent need of all men to know who they are. And she sees a set of eyes- her eyes- for the first time in this life, and they are looking back at her, not truly brown or amber but a shade somewhere between the two. So focused on the sight in front of her that she doesn’t pay attention on what is coming behind until a hand taps her on the shoulder. A scream and she drops the mirror back onto the top of the drawers, a crack appearing on the glass.

“Alfred! You need to stop...creeping up on me like this!” she protests, flustered and embarrassed that she has been caught looking at herself. “Can I get you a bell to tie around your neck so this won’t happen in the future?”

She watches him as one hand slips inside his own shirt and she is fixated on whatever he is doing in there until-

“-look, I have one.” A wry smile appears as he shows her a small bell latched neatly onto a long chain. It is much like her own, and she wonders if this is standard for all hunters, both past and present. But, her interest lays more with the what she was doing before he found her, and her eyes are drawn back towards the mirror, towards the fractured glass and tarnished gold. Alfred looks at her, sees what her gaze is focused on and stands closely behind her. 

“A bit of an interesting time to admire yourself, don’t you think?” Another smile, as bright as they always are from him, which fades when he sees how flustered she looks. “I was…it was just a joke. I didn’t mean to offend you!” And when she doesn’t answer, he leans forwards, picks it up and holds it in front of her. “Please don’t think of me as unkind or as though I was accusing you of being vain.”

“I know, I know!” she says hurriedly, eyes downcast. “I’m just…rather embarrassed about being caught. I-” A pause, the words trapped in her throat as she thinks best about how to articulate the tempest of feelings inside her about herself, about having a better sense of who she is. “-the thing is that other than a name, I don’t really know who I am. Or maybe I can’t remember who I am. And I wanted to know— I want to know.”

“So, take a look!” He waggles the mirror in front her again and she shakes her head.

“There’s no point! When you came up behind me, I…dropped it. Look, it’s damaged!” Now she looks up and then runs one finger down the fracture. “It’s useless now.”

“That’s a very negative way of putting it.”

“It’s the truth though.”

“It might be your truth, but it’s not mine. Just because it’s damaged doesn’t mean it’s broken or useless or not worth cherishing anymore.” And she watches their reflection, hypnotised as he leans around to kiss her cheek. “Everything here is a bit damaged, but we find a way to make it work regardless.”

“You’re a lot more sentimental than I thought you’d be…”

“I’m full of surprises.” he whispers, his voice husky and, as she turns to face him, he shakes his head. “Not the time, Tallulah!” A smile as he holds the mirror directly in front of her, making her own appearance inescapable. “Look at how pretty you are, how resourceful you are. You’re smart and kind! Just because you might not conform to a certain ideal doesn’t mean you’re broken. You’re coping in the best way you can. And we’re in Yharnam. Blood is blood. In the nicest way, I suppose it doesn’t matter if you get it directly from the source-”

“-Alfred!”

“-or from a vial. I’m not going to share this information with anyone else, although I understand your reluctance perhaps to believe me given my recent track record.”

Tallulah wraps her fingers around the handle of the mirror, pulling it from his hand. “That was a nice talk, even it did go into a strange direction towards the end there…so thank you.” Another smile and she places it back from where she found it. “I think we should continue though before I lose my nerve once more and end up leaving this place again. I’ve tried to make it to the church around the corner from here before but haven’t been successful so far. Alas! I need to try and end this night somehow!”

“I’ll follow you this time then, Good Hunter.” He nods her head towards her and she has only the briefest, most perfunctory of glances back at the treasures before she leaves the room, leaves the house. Her interest lays more with what might be seeking shelter within sacred walls and it doesn’t take long— a few uneventful minutes— to get there, to walk past neglected graves and down the narrow staircase to the church. And, her confidence is short-lived, dissipating quickly as she gets inside, and looks to the sight in front of her. 

It’s not the biggest beast she’s fought— she thinks back to the one on the bridge, eventually killed with the use of fire and fighting more aggressively than she thought she was capable of— but there is something unsettling about this one.

“Alfred,” she says quietly, ‘what is that?”

“It’s just a beast! Albeit a more unusual looking than some of them are but it can still be killed just the same as all the others.”

“But why does it have skin flaps?” She moves a bit closer to him and, in a moment of uncharacteristic nervousness, she grabs his hand and holds it with her own. “It’s wearing its own skin as a coat. Do we need to fight it? Can we not just…turn around?”

He squeezes her hand. “Have some confidence in your abilities. You’re a better hunter than you give yourself credit for.”

“But it’s just there, not harming anyone. Look, it hasn’t even noticed us-”

“-You have a duty to hunt all beasts, Tallulah.” His tone is sharper than what she is used to from him and she looks at him, indignant at how he speaks to her. “I’m here to help you but I have my own duty to fulfil as well. I…” A sigh and his demeanour softens again. “I can’t spend the whole night hunting with you.”

The briefest squeeze of his hand and then she pulls away from him before brandishing her weapon, its familiar weight back in her hands. “Shall we then?” And he watches, takes a moment to really watch her, as she almost skips towards the creature— how there is a certain grace in the way she moves and in the way she handles her weapon. What she lacks in any real strength, she makes up for in finesse and it is with this thought does he join her fight.

And, much like every other beast in Yharnam, this one is stubborn and powerful and fights back. Unlike some of the other beasts she has personally encountered however, this one is fast as well, much faster and erratic that she could’ve possibly anticipated, and when she is knocked over yet again, she can taste copper in her mouth once more along with—

—her stomach flips as she realises a tooth has been broken as she runs her tongue over the shattered, painful edge of what is left of it and then spits out the fragments and blood still lingering in her mouth. 

She wonders if she’ll ever properly get used to the hunt. 

But for now, she knows she needs to get out the way and then patch herself up with a vial— it’s an effective plan, especially with Alfred there to distract the beast while she sorts herself out. As she stands, something wet hits her that smells entirely repugnant; it is noxious, smelling of something decaying and she tries to ignore it, looks at Alfred to make sure he is still fine and then jabs a vial in her thigh. The effect is almost instantaneous and she still can’t comprehend how the blood can work so well, how she can feel the battered parts of herself knitting back together. 

The room spins and she blinks, rubbing her eyes before daring to open them again.

There is a wooziness in her stomach and she tries to take a breath, to compose herself lest she retch during a fight, but the feeling is so potent and she is struggling. When the beast turns and looks at her, its attention now not focused on Alfred, the room spins again when she tries to move, further aggravating the nausea that is consuming her. 

A few bounds to close the distance between them and then, when it hits her, one clawed hand across her stomach with such force she can feel the breathe being knocked from her lungs, she is sent flying and then there is nothing.

  


* * *

  


He thinks the beasts haven’t always been this ghastly- this one is especially horrendous, what with wearing its skin as a coat- but they can all be killed and this is a fact that keeps him going. And, even while sending it sprawling with his hammer, he wonders where Tallulah has vanished too- most likely healing and taking a second to reorganise herself ready for the final push to end this monstrously. With the beast so close to death, spitting venom at him with such fury, it is not the time to look for her and so he puts it down, puts it out of its misery. A smile, a gloved hand running over his brow to wipe away the sweat, and then he realises Tallulah is nowhere to be seen. He knows she can’t die, that he needn’t worry about own mortality, but the sense of anxiety he feels is still profound. 

And he looks around, wondering where she could have ended up. 

As a hunter linked to the Dream, would there even be a body left if she died?

No! That is too horrible a thought to bear!

And then. 

Then he sees her, crumpled and small and not moving— stationary at the base of a pillar— and his eyes go wide.

“Oh shi—”

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for how long this has taken to update- blame life.
> 
> Thank you for the support <3

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry for any of this ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


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